Waving Palms of Protest in a Dangerous Time

A sermon preached on April 14, 2019 at St. John’s Episcopal Church in Oakland, California. Audio available here.

This is an odd Sunday – this Palm and Passion Sunday. Made up of two stories, and made up of all drama. We started out our liturgy this morning waving palms and celebrating Jesus’s so-called triumphal entry into Jerusalem. And then we moved into the passion narrative:  Christ’s persecution and suffering, dramatized. We experienced joyful confidence become raw discomfort. Our proud “Hosannas” somehow morphed into fearful “Crucify Hims.”

But maybe the disconnect doesn’t have to be so sharp. Because maybe the triumphal entry is more nuanced than it might seem. Maybe it’s not a parade of triumph or victory. Maybe it’s an intentional and well-orchestrated mockery of the excesses of imperial authority.  

A statement about power. About the difference between the only real power — the power of God — and the hollow emptiness of the earthly “powers that be.” The hollow emptiness of the powers of Caesar, and of Herod and of Rome — with their banners and flags and gilded parades for themselves. Maybe we’d do better to process into church on Palm Sunday to strains of Public Enemy’s classic hip hop anthem “Fight the Power” than to our beloved “All Glory, Laud and Honor.”

Maybe waving our palms is an act of protest in a dangerous time.

Because this was a dangerous time. Jesus knew that violence awaited him in Jerusalem. And his disciples knew that to spread down their cloaks before the path of God — incarnate in the body of a Galilean Jew in an occupied country – was an act of faith and a fiercely political act. These disciples, who shouted, “blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!” knew these were dangerous words. They called this Jesus of Nazareth their king. “This is who we serve,” they were saying. Dangerous words in a dangerous time.

My friends – as you know, we too are living in a dangerous time. We are living in a time made for palms of protest. We are living in a time that calls us to be clear about who it is we serve. A time that calls us to be clear about where real power lies. A time to reject the hollow emptiness of earthly “powers that be” with their banners and flags and gilded parades for themselves. And a time to lay down our cloaks to make the way safe for the marginalized among us.

We are called in this dangerous time to wave our palms on behalf of those whose lives are most endangered by earthly powers that be. On behalf of the real power of Christ’s presence in our neighbors. The real power of the God of love.

Today, I wave palms for Representative Ilhan Omar, and all Muslim people, scapegoated for violence they had no part in. And for people of color, so often in danger simply by being in our public spaces. I wave palms for Laura Maradiaga, an 11-year-old in danger of being deported to El Salvador without her family. I wave palms for transgender people who feel called to serve this country through military service, and are barred from doing so as their authentic selves. I wave palms for women, whose lives are threatened by policies that seek to remove their ability to make safe decisions about their own bodies.  

Your palms of protest may well be different from mine – and so, I invite you to identify where you see the hollow earthly powers that be of empire at work, denying the real power of God present in the lives of all people.

This palm waving is bold and it can be dangerous. And this is one way to connect these two seemingly disparate poles of today’s liturgy. We disciples find our will to wave our palms in dangerous times, knowing the violence of the passion is at the door, because we know Good Friday is not the end of the story. Easter – the Risen Christ – waits for us on the other side. Always. On the other side of grief. On the other side of oppression. On the other side of injustice. Easter waits for us. We are an Easter people. That is our story. And if we forget that, we may find ourselves crying “crucify him” instead of “hosanna.”

Scott has been preaching on the theme of extravagance. In today’s liturgy, we moved from the familiar, earthly extravagance of empire – the extravagances we build for ourselves, the opulence of riches and the pride of flag-waving – to the true extravagance of God. The true extravagance of the Passion – which, while it walks us unflinchingly through death – ultimately, always, unbelievably, leads us to life. To life everlasting. And there is nothing more extravagant than this – this gift, this promise, this love. This one true sacrifice of God.

Holy Week can be an intense time in our lives as Christians. It can sometimes cause us to feel cut off from the world in our churchy cocoon. Or even isolated and alone as individuals – battling our internal guilt in silence. But I don’t think this has to be a time for intensive helplessness and guilt. I think Holy Week can be a time for intensive action and hope.  

This story. This, the story – our story – is about things heavenly, yes. And, it is so much about things earthly. It is about what it is to be in this world – this world God was born into as a vulnerable human being. This world that crucified that vulnerable human being. This story is about how we are to be in this hard and dangerous, and beautiful and breathtaking world. And it is about the absolute assurance we have in Christ that hope of eternal life is always present. For all of us. This is who we are. This is the crazy, radical way of being Christian – of being an Easter people – believing in the one God of creation and love. This is a time when we are called to hard things – to the hopeful work of waving our palms in protest in a dangerous time.